


see the distant flume

by merrymegtargaryen



Series: toes [3]
Category: The Spanish Princess (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Infidelity, Mistaken Identity, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/merrymegtargaryen
Summary: While James is celebrating the birth of another bastard, a neglected Meg decides to have a little flirtation of her own.
Relationships: Margaret Tudor/Alexander Stewart
Series: toes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068029
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	see the distant flume

**Author's Note:**

> This is a request from a friend who wanted me to transpose the Catherine x Liam storyline from Reign 1x17. This is set between TSP seasons 1 and 2, before Meg and Alexander have officially met. 
> 
> Thank you to itslaurenmae for looking this over and suggesting the title!

Christmas should be a happy occasion, but Meg is far from happy right now.

One of James’s mistresses is pregnant again, and rather than hide her away in a manor far from here, he’s showing off her pregnant belly at court, raising toasts to the unborn bastard and setting his mistress on his knee.

All in front of Meg, who has still not managed to conceive. 

It’s not completely her fault. She is eager to be a good and dutiful wife, to bear her husband an heir, but James’s visits to her bed are infrequent at best. 

“Isnae your fault, hen,” he’d reassured her. “You’re just...younger than what I’m used to. You still have a child’s body.”

At sixteen, Meg is not a child and does not have a child’s body anymore, but there is some truth to what he says; she  _ is _ younger than what he’s used to. His youngest mistress is a whole decade older than Meg, and most of them are well into their thirties. He likes experienced women; and Meg, who came to him as a child of thirteen, is far from experienced.

She watches from the edges of the crowd as people surround James and...Elizabeth? Isabel? It’s so hard to keep track of his mistresses, really. Everyone is toasting to the new baby, and Meg is, once again, left to contemplate her own flat belly. 

“She’s carrying high,” observes Ellen, one of her ladies-in-waiting. “That must mean it’s a girl.”

“She could be carrying a goat for all I care,” Meg says irritably, handing her goblet to Ellen and walking away from the great hall.

A man, however, falls into step just behind and beside her. “Yer a saucy one, aren’t you?”

“I  _ beg _ your pardon?” Meg demands, whirling around to look at the impertinent man. She’s never met or even seen him before, but she can tell from his tartan that he is a Stewart. Not that that helps her narrow it down; Edinburgh is overrun with her husband’s kinsmen. He has a shaggy mop of black hair, a black beard trimmed short, dancing brown eyes, and a wide smile. “Saucy?!”

“Don’t be offended,” he says, standing  _ far _ too close and not making  _ any _ signs of deference due to a queen. “It’s a good word, ‘saucy.’ It’s sauce that makes food worth eating...and women like you that make life worth living.”

Meg flushes until she’s almost as red as her dress. As a Tudor Princess and Queen of Scotland, she’s been paid many compliments in her time, but none of them have left her feeling as warm as this one. He is blunt, like many Scotsmen, but to be  _ this _ blunt...

“You are outrageous,” she says, turning to leave, but he grasps her wrist.

“Oh, don’t take yerself away from me, beauty!” he says with the earnestness of a young man courting, still not letting go of her wrist.

“Do you know who I am?!” she demands, wondering if perhaps he is drunk. 

“I can guess.” He massages her wrist, and the gesture is so unexpectedly pleasant that she doesn’t stop him. “I’d say yer a lady-in-waiting.”

Meg opens her mouth to correct him--and then stops short. He isn’t saying these things to seek favor with his queen, he’s saying them because he thinks he’s flirting with some noblewoman. 

“Yer too well-dressed te be anything else,” he continues, mistaking the surprise on her face. One hand skims down the length of her arm, the other slowly pressing her hand to his chest. “And by yer accent, I’d say you accompanied the queen here from England.”

Meg knows she should put a stop to this now...but she doesn’t want to. All night--for the past three years, really--her husband has made her feel childish and inadequate, not pretty enough to tempt him into bed with her. But here is a man openly flirting with her, not because of her crown, but because he likes what he sees. 

So she smiles and says, “You’re right. I do serve the Queen of Scotland.” 

“I knew it.” His thumb is massaging her knuckles, and through the thick layers of his clothes, she can feel a well-defined chest. “What do they call you?”

“Meg,” she says without thinking, but luckily, he doesn’t draw the connection; after all, there are many Megs and Margarets at court. 

“Meg,” he hums. “I’m Alexander. Do you want te go someplace quieter, Meg? Just te talk,” he adds quickly. 

_ “Just _ to talk?” she asks skeptically. 

_ “Just _ te talk,” he confirms. 

In the great hall behind her, she can hear James raising another toast to his son. A son Meg cannot give him.

“Alright,” she says to Alexander. “Let’s go someplace and...talk.”

.

They climb the stairs to the easternmost tower; from one of the windows, you can see all of Edinburgh laid out like a little toy city. It’s one of Meg’s favorite sights, but she has a feeling she won’t be doing much sightseeing tonight.

“Ah, I’ve missed this,” Alexander says, looking out at the city. 

“You’ve been away?” she asks, wondering if this is why he doesn’t know who she is.

He takes her hands, rubbing them to keep her warm. “Aye, staying with my brother in France. Have you ever been?”

“To France? No.” She doesn’t miss the way Alexander’s hands slowly draw her closer to him. “I hear it’s beautiful.”

“It’s alright,” he says carelessly. “Nothing like Scotland.”

“Really?” she asks, a bit breathless at their proximity. 

“Aye,” he hums. “Some think she’s cold and harsh...but she has a beauty that can pierce yer heart.” His hand reaches up to cradle her head, his palm warm against her cheek as his eyes search hers. He’s seeking permission, permission that Meg ought not give.

But why shouldn’t she? James is downstairs openly parading his indiscretions while the whole court celebrates; what harm is there in her kissing a stranger?

So she gives a small nod, and closes her eyes as Alexander leans down to kiss her.

His kiss is surprisingly gentle...at first, anyway. As their arms wind around each other, the kiss deepens, becoming hungrier and less gentle. She wants more, even finds herself moaning with how much she wants. Alexander wants more, too; he presses her against the wall, his hands feeling her through her dress. It feels good, he feels good, and that’s why Meg pulls away.

“I can’t,” she manages to slur, drunk off of desire. “I…”

“I won’t take yer maidenhead,” he murmurs, and she realizes that he thinks she’s a virgin. Beneath his experienced hands, she certainly feels like one. “But there are other things we can do.”

“Like what--” she starts to ask, but Alexander is already bending down, his hands gripping her thighs through her dress and lifting her. She gasps, clutching his shoulders as his hips press against hers. She can feel him even through her bunched up skirts; not completely, but enough. He kisses her neck while his hips begin to rock ever so slightly. 

Meg feels as though she’s turned to butter, melting in his arms. He kisses her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her collar, even the swell of her breasts, his hips slowly building a rhythm that is driving her mad. She feels as though her skin is too tight, as though she’s climbing towards a peak that never seems quite within her grasp.

“Meg,” Alexander murmurs, his voice so rough it almost sounds like a growl. 

It’s his voice that brings her to her peak and over the edge, making her cry out as her hips rock desperately against his. She can feel him rocking back against her with equal desperation, both of them rutting like animals as they chase this feeling. 

It’s a long moment later when she lowers herself onto trembling legs, her heart pounding. “I should go,” she says breathlessly, wondering what on earth she’s just done. She starts to head for the door, but Alexander’s hand closes around her wrist again, stopping her with an easy strength. 

“I want te see you again,” he says breathlessly, desperately.

She lets out a small, hysterical laugh. “Don’t worry, you will.” And with that, she leaves him, feeling so light that her feet barely touch the steps on her way down. 


End file.
